As incensed and horrified as I was, the image of Anna’s big blue eyes slipped into my brain. I had to keep all the violence centralized here on the first floor. I had to keep all this as far from her as I could manage. And the only way to do that was to keep the leader of the Bianchi clan talking.
“My father is… was a respected mafia leader. We’ve been at peace with your family since before he was born. Why would he risk a fight with you after all this time? Why would he destabilize the entirety of Philadelphia over a few measly bucks?”
“It was more than a few measly bucks, as you so elegantly put it. Our accountants have discovered this has been going on for some time. Our coffers are millions of dollars short. Hundreds of millions, in fact. As to why? My guess is the old man got greedy. Selfish. And such a thing cannot be ignored.”
“And you can prove this how?” I asked.
“Records. We run a tight ship. We noticed the discrepancy early on and started to make an effort to track it down. Once we discovered who was at fault, we came over here to take care of it.”
My ears were ringing with the suddenness of what had happened, and for the first time I felt a presence at my back. Not a threat, but Molly. I realized she’d been here almost as long as me, her hands up in surrender, her eyes goggling at the spectacle before us.
“You’ve started a war. We swear to have our retribution,” Gabriel bellowed out again, so much agony in his voice it made my own breath hitch.
“Muzzle your bastard before we muzzle him for you,” Donovan said spitefully, his eyes hard, but then he relented slightly. “We found no evidence that any of you are complicit in this. I will send you our records. We’re not looking for a war, only for justice. And for now, this’ll do.”
He yanked his head towards the door, telling his men to clear out. Shoving Gabriel into a nearby closet, they barricaded him in, then dispersed. Moments later, the only ones left standing in the room were me and Molly.
I heard my half-brother banging his fists against the closet door and demanding to be let out, but I couldn’t focus on him. I couldn’t focus on my other brothers or even on preparing my father’s body. The only person I had any bandwidth available for was Anna.
Without a word, I rushed up the two flights of stairs to the nursery. Nanny Greta stood in one corner, tears running silently down her face as she swung my daughter gently back and forth. There was blood on Greta’s arm, on the breast of her apron, and on Anna’s dress. My beautiful baby girl’s eyes were closed. It looked as if the nanny had just gotten her to nod off.
But I couldn’t tell if Anna was breathing or not.
My own breathing became frenetic. Erratic. I grew dizzy from the lack of enough oxygen and nearly stumbled as I traversed the plush carpet.
Distantly, I felt my throat closing and my lungs compressing as I hyperventilated, but it didn’t matter. I had to ask. I had to know one way or the other. “Is… Is she…”
Then, my daughter opened her eyes and looked right into mine. The pure blueness of her gaze dazzled me. “Da… Da… Daddy.”
Spots swimming before my vision, I wrapped my arms around my baby and dropped to my knees. Burying my face in the softness of her blankets, the stone barrier around my heart cracked wide open, and I broke, body and soul, into a thousand pieces.
9
Molly
As jarring as it had been to watch the aftermath of such a v
iolent scene of death and destruction downstairs, in a way this was worse.
Luca had collapsed in the middle of this lacy white bedroom at the top of the stairs weeping as he cradled a baby in his lap. And this wasn’t the quiet type of crying where a tear or two slipped down his cheeks, either. His agony shook his entire frame as he released gasping sobs that echoed off the walls and throughout the large room.
“She is all right. She is all right,” the woman in the apron kept saying again and again in a voice accented in Italian, kneeling beside him and rubbing his quaking back. The little girl had started to wail, reacting to his distress. Unable to speak, he gestured toward the woman’s chest, and for the first time, I saw the red stain. “I scraped my arm when I heard the shots, that is all. Your daughter is fine.”
Other than a fleeting glimpse at me, the woman—I couldn’t tell if she was another member of their family or a nanny—paid me no mind whatsoever. Her silver hair had escaped its bun and she fixed it before wiping her own tears away, muttering something in Italian. She scampered into the attached bathroom and came out with a wet washcloth, holding it to Luca’s forehead and cupping his face like a mother would.
“Time to begin calming down now, child of light. Breathe with me, nice and slow. Anna won’t settle down until you do.”
He nodded, leaning into her, letting her offer him solace. Suddenly, I felt guilty for being a bystander to all this. His back remained to the door, and I was fairly certain he had no idea I’d seen him during such a private moment.
After several excruciating minutes passed, he slowly regained control. “Dad’s dead,” he whispered.
The nanny gasped and crossed herself. “Dio mio.”
“Marco’s injured and Alessandro might be, too. Check on them for me?”
“Of course.” She got to her feet and opened a cupboard, pulling out what looked to be a first aid kit and a box of facial tissue. Yanking a few tissues free, she handed them to Luca before dropping the box at his feet. As he cleaned up, she bustled past me through the door and disappeared.
The baby—his baby—continued to whimper, and he shifted her higher into his arms, setting her gingerly against his shoulder. “Shhhh,” he intoned, as he patted her back and rocked her to and fro. “Daddy didn’t mean to frighten you.”